


I want Something Just Like This

by barbex



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Drunk Sex, In Vino Veritas, M/M, there's only one bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:08:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27982827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbex/pseuds/barbex
Summary: A smile plays on Bond's face as he looks at Q. "You're watching me?"Q takes another sip and leans back against the wall as the warmth from the scotch flows through him. "I mean, we don't always have camera access but there's usually a security camera or we have a drone somewhere. And who wouldn't enjoy watching a beautiful man like you."Oh shit, he's rambling.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 6
Kudos: 99
Collections: Mistletoe Exchange 2020





	I want Something Just Like This

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sparcina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparcina/gifts).



> Honestly? I didn't even know I needed this pairing but now I do.

* * *

Being driven by James Bond in a classic car is a pleasure known only to a handful of people, but probably a wonderful experience. Being driven by 007 in a beat up Vauxhall while being chased by faster cars is known by even fewer and also a nightmare.

Q holds on to the oh-shit-handle with all his strength while pressing his laptop to his chest. The car is terrible, nothing like the classic cars you would expect 007 to drive. It's old, it smells of stale cigarette smoke, and the dashboard is covered with cement dust.

Q wrinkles his nose at the state of everything. "This is not your car." 

"No." 007 shakes his head as looks between the rearview mirrors. 

"Couldn't you at least have picked something nice?" Q wrinkles his nose even more. "A Vauxhall, really?"

A smile plays over 007's lips as he forces the car around a corner at a speed and angle that neither the car nor Q particularly appreciates. "Couldn't be picky, just needed something that couldn't be tracked." 

"Hopefully we're not leaving behind a trail of cigarette butts." 

007 slows the car, apparently they've lost their pursuers and 007 lets the car go with the traffic. Q doesn't recognize the street they're on, it could be any part of the city, away from downtown, where windows are boarded up and a few small shops fight for their survival. 

They slow down at a stoplight and Q sees an internet cafe that advertises mobile phones and prepaid cards. "I need a new SIM card, or rather I need three," Q says.

"Now?" 

"Very soon, yes," Q says. "You want me to find out who infiltrated us — I need to access my VPN without anyone from MI6 noticing."

Bond gives him a short nod and then swings the car around into an alley, somehow managing to park it in a way that it isn't visible from the main road. He gets out without a word and Q's breath catches in his throat. 

He hasn't noticed before but now, as he leaves the car, it is rather obvious that 007 isn't wearing his usual black suit and dress shoes, but jeans, a tight polo-neck with a light jacket that hides the gun holster, and trainers. Q turns in his seat to watch him walk to the internet cafe. In some stupid movie he once watched, a character said that the only purpose for jeans is to make the wearer's ass look good and — bloddy hell! 

Bond's arse in jeans is a sculpted beauty that will forever haunt him in his dreams from now on.

He deliberately turns back to the front, taking off his glasses to clean them and stares at the blurry cement dust on the dashboard. 007 in jeans. James fucking Bond in tight jeans with that perfect arse of his. As if the guy isn't attractive enough. As if Q doesn't already have a crush on him, just like eighty percent of the division anyway. 

It's just a small crush, a tiny one. Frankly, it's just more exciting with 007 around, just a bit more espionage flair and less bureaucratic number crunching. Makes a man wish to see him more often, naturally.

Q startles when the driver door opens. 007 slides into the seat, throwing three SIM cards in blister packs onto Q's lap. Q puts his glasses back on and notices that Bond's grey polo-neck has fresh new blood splatters. He decides not to ask how they got there. 

007 drives calmly now, guiding the car up north on the motorway. The hum of the engine, the blur of trees and countryside tires Q and he dozes off until the car rattles over a farm track. They stop at a small house, almost hidden behind an overgrown garden. 

"Wait here," 007 says and leaves the car. Q watches him until he disappears inside. The windows are dark and instead of watching for a light coming on, Q peels a SIM card out of its packaging. He digs into his rucksack, the standard sized MI6 edition, and fishes out his portable router. After a bit of wrangling that almost loses him a fingernail, he finally has the SIM cards exchanged and watches the readout on the display with a frown.

007 comes back to the car and knocks on Q's window. 

Q shakes his head, fumbling for the window crank to lower it. "We can't stay here," he says in Bond's general direction.

Bond's hand slips under his jacket and he looks around, searching. "Why not?"

"There's no mobile coverage here, at all. I can't do anything here."

007 squints at the router in Q's hand and then nods. "Understood." He walks back to the house, locks the door, and comes back into the car without another word. They drive on, following country roads in the declining sunlight of the day, driving along farmland with only a few lights in the distance indicating that people actually live here.

By the time Q starts to wonder if they will keep on driving until they reach Scotland, they come into a village, where 007 takes a turn off the main road onto the lot of a saw mill. He obviously knows this place, the man at the gate just nods at him and 007 drives past the piles of planks until they reach a fence. 

"Check it now," 007 says.

Q looks at his router and nods. "It looks quite well, I can work with this." 

"Good." 007 climbs out of the car and goes to the trunk. When he slams the trunk shut again, he carries two MI6 rucksacks over his shoulder and looks puzzled at Q. "Are you coming?"

"Coming where?" Q climbs out of the car, pressing his laptop to his chest and pulls his rucksack out. 

007 steps towards something that Q had thought to be another pile of planks but it turns out to be a shack. It even has a door, which looks too sturdy for the rest of this thing that doesn't quite qualify as a building. 007 opens the door, turns on the light, and gestures to Q to step in, a faint smile playing over his lips. 

Q steps inside and swallows. The other hiding place had been a house, with several rooms, a kitchen, probably separate bedrooms, probably separate beds. This shack has just one room, a narrow door in the back that hopefully leads to a toilet, one chair, one tiny table, and one bed.

"Well." Q gathers what ever calm acceptance he can find and puts his rucksack down next to the table and chair. "I better see who got into our system." He starts the laptop, spreads out tablet, phone and router on the table and decidedly ignores the bed. 

The bed where 007 currently lounges as if it's just the right time to take a nap. He even has his eyes closed. It's a chance to stare at Bond's terribly attractive body without him noticing and Q takes perfect advantage of that. Only the beep from his laptop with the results of his first network sweep pulls his attention back to his screen. 

The algorithm needs some adjustment to find traces of the intruder and Q dives in deep, playing with functions and variables until the program digs so deep into MI6's network that he'll probably unearth some forgotten VAX machine in a file cabinet soon. 

Hands settle on his shoulders, and Q lets out an embarrassing squeak. 007 kneads his tense shoulder muscles and bloody hell, is he ever good at it. Of course he is, the MI6 probably has training for that. Q can't help but groan, he takes off his glasses and leans his head back as 007 turns his shoulders to pudding. 

Bond bends down, his incredible voice murmuring directly in Q's ear and that is really not fair. "Anything I can help you with?"

Q swallows hard. "Ehm, right now I just need to watch the readout for patterns." He puts his glasses back on, knowing that playing around with them is basically broadcasting to the world that he's nervous. "I ... I mean I could programm an algorithm but that would take a while and with the graphical readout... You know, humans are very good at pattern recognition..."

"Yes," Bond says. "I know. Let me do that." He grabs a tablet and turns back to the bed. It's barely a step in this tiny room. "Give me the graphical readout. You have to find a way for us to contact someone inside, someone we can trust." 

Q stares at how Bond's legs fall open in his tight jeans and how he holds the tablet right there... he drags his eyes away and forces himself to focus. "Moneypenny?" 

007 shakes his head, his eyes fixed on the tablet. "They know she's close to us, they'll watch her."

Q adjusts his glasses and sends the readout to Bond's tablet with a few quick commands. "But!" Q raises his finger and then starts one of his cryptographic programs, "If I send a hidden message to Kettlefold, he'll show it to Moneypenny."

"Are you sure?" 

"Yes, he's always trying to get her attention."

007 grins as he keeps his eyes on the tablet. "Here, I got something." He enlarges a section and hands the tablet to Q. 

"Yes, I think that's it. That's how they got in." Q packs the information into a harmless but slightly weird message and sends it to Kettleford. He leans back and rolls his shoulders, which still feel wonderful after Bond's massage. "Now we can just wait."

"How long till they see it?" 007 asks. 

"I'd say in the morning, Kettlefold isn't exactly an early riser."

"So we just wait?"

"Yes." Q shrugs. "I'm sorry this isn't as exciting as your usual assignments, that's computer work for you."

007 laughs and digs into a rucksack. "Believe me, I enjoy this. It's nice to relax for a change." He pulls a bottle from the rucksack, its amber contents glowing in the light from the spare bulb at the ceiling. With a practiced twist, he opens it and then takes out two glasses and holds them in his hand. He fills the glasses halfway and the scents of alcohol and peat waft through the room. 

Bond puts the bottle on the floor and holds a glass out to Q. "Come, sit with me here, it's more comfortable."

A blush creeps up Q's neck, it's one thing to sit in a tiny room with Bond, it's quite another to sit on a bed with him. But it looks way more comfortable. He leaves the rickety chair and sits down next to 007, taking the glass from him. Bond raises his glass to Q, his eyes twinkling as he grins at him. "We earned a drink, don't you think?"

Q can only nod, adjusting his glasses with a fingertip. "This is scotch, I presume?"

"Indeed."

"Well, Slàinte Mhath then." He breathes in the scent of the scotch and then takes a sip.

"Slàinte Mhath," 007 answers and takes a long, slow gulp that almost empties the glass.

Q, not wanting to look like he can't appreciate the exquisiteness of the scotch, drinks until the scotch in his glass is at the same height as Bond's. The scotch is excellent, as expected and it fills Q's veins with warm fire. 

"Well, this at least elevates the event to acceptable levels," Q says. "Although, after watching you seduce so many beautiful women at tropical resorts, I'm kind of disappointed with the location."

A smile plays on Bond's face as he looks at Q. "You're watching me?"

Q takes another sip and leans back against the wall as the warmth from the scotch flows through him. "I mean, we don't always have camera access but there's usually a security camera or we have a drone somewhere. And who wouldn't enjoy watching a beautiful man like you."

_Oh shit, he's rambling._

He takes another gulp of scotch, emptying the glass, which is probably a bad idea but life is all about enjoying things as they come, is it not? He holds the empty glass out and Bond fills it again with an amused smile. 

"I'll make sure to put on a show for you, next time," Bond says and empties his own glass to refill it.

Q drinks again, enjoying the sharp bite of peat and alcohol in his mouth. He could get used to scotch. "Oh, you don't need to, it's quite stimulating already."

Bond laughs out loud. "Stimulating?"

"That's why I'm always looking forward to seeing you at the division, you get such exciting jobs. Watching you on your assignments is always a treat. Although," Q says, feeling braver than ever as he turns to Bond, "you could do me a favour and do it above the covers sometimes. I mean it's nice to see you kiss and all but it would be even nicer to see your arse, you know?"

Bond leans over, grinning, his lips just a breath away from Q's. "You like my arse?"

"Of course," Q blurts out, staring at Bond's lips. "Are you telling me you've put on those jeans and didn't notice that your arse looks illegally attractive in them?"

Bond's grin shines like a light. "It does, doesn't it?"

Q leans forward and kisses Bond.

He knows, rationally, that the foundation for his braveness is just the liquid courage from the scotch but why should he care? He's wanted to do this since the first time Bond smiled at him. 

Bond is a phenomenal kisser, of course he is, but he surprises Q with his gentleness. He waits for Q to come to forward, he opens his mouth to him and his probing tongue without hesitation but he takes rather than demands. Q grabs and pulls at Bond's shirt, slipping his hands under it to feel those glorious firm muscles, pulling himself closer until he somehow leans over Bond's body.

He stills, scared of his own courage. His glasses are fogged and make everything look like a dream. Bond watches him, following the line of Q's chin with a soft stroke of his finger.

"You're beautiful," he says. 

Q doesn't know where to look, his hand is straining towards his glasses. "Well..."

Bond grabs his chin and forces him to look at him. "You're lovely, so lovely. I've wanted you since the day at the museum." 

Q opens and closes his mouth like a fish. "Me?"

"Yes, you," says Bond and then he kisses him again, devouring him, his hips snapping against Q's. 

Q groans. "Christ."

"Sit back," Bond orders, positioning Q like a ragdoll at the edge of the bed. It's disconcerting how strong Bond is. 

As Q sits, leaning back on his elbows, he watches with wide eyes how Bond slips off the bed and kneels between Q's legs. He has Q's cock freed with nimble fingers in no time and after a grin up to Q's wide eyes, he takes him in his mouth.

"Jesus Christ!" It feels incredible, tight and hot. He looks down, at her Majesty's best 00 agent, who has his lips wrapped around his cock with a grin. It's unreal. Q swallows hard, watching Bond's lips work around his cock, wet, red, and soft. What a sight. What a glorious sight! 

"I wonder," Q says, staring at Bond, "how you would look in one of your suits doing this."

Bond laughs, looking relaxed even with Q's prick on his tongue. He tightens his lips again and sucks.

Q throws his head back. "Christ, you're good at this." He idly wonders if MI6 has a training for cock sucking too and then Bond does something with his tongue that has his mind go blank. All he can do is moan. 

Bond grins up to him, letting his tongue slide up to the tip of Q's cock. "I love the sounds you make." 

Q thinks he should say something but all thoughts have left his head, leaving just an animalistic need that has him feel braver than any scotch can do. He arches his back, thrusting his hips forward into Bond's mouth. Bond takes him easily, of course he does, and sucks hard and fast until Q comes with a throaty cry.

He falls back on the bed, practically boneless, desperately breathing in. Bond crawls up, leaning over Q and kisses him. He tastes himself on Bond's tongue and suddenly he needs more, more closeness, more solidness, more of that firm body. He pulls him closer, wrapping his legs around him, his hand slipping between them until he finds Bond's jeans open and his cock sticky and soft.

Q stops and leans his head back to look into Bond's face. "You came?"

Bond laughs. "Sweetheart, with the sounds you made, I came right here on the floor." 

"I feel like you got the short end of the stick there."

Bond stretches out on the bed and pulls Q down to him. "Believe me, I got exactly what I wanted." He slings his leg over Q's hip and slides his fingers into Q's hair. "I've wanted to have that cock of yours in my mouth since forever."

"Christ, how can you just say that?" The words sound strange as they come out of his mouth. Tiredness presses down on him and as much as he tries, he just can't keep his eyes open.

***

Relentless, insistent beeping wakes Q. He grabbles for the phone and slides the button without looking. It's a video call and Moneypenny's cheerful face greets him. 

Q groans, his waking awareness comes with a headache. "Hey, how did you get this number?"

"A good morning to you too!" Moneypenny says and raises an eyebrow. "And I should be insulted, you sent me a message and you think I wouldn't find you? Please."

"Sorry," Q mumbles and closes his eyes again. His head is pounding and his mouth feels like it's filled with smelly cotton. 

"Hello James!" Moneypenny's voice is even more cheerful now.

James Bond leans over Q's shoulder and grins into the phone camera. "Moneypenny, how's it looking?"

"Quite excellent from where I'm sitting," she says and her grin could power all of London. "But if you mean our situation here, I'm getting things under control. M has people sufficiently shaking in their boots and we should be up and running in a few hours. You can lay low for a bit longer and I'll call you when you're needed back here."

"Thanks, Moneypenny," Bond says and reaches over Q to end the call.

Q, for his part, wonders if he could dissolve himself into neat little TCP/IP packages and slip into a network line somewhere. Anywhere but here, where he now has to face the results of his drunken ridiculousness, of himself mooning over a 00 agent like Bond, kissing him, watching him suck him off for christ sake. How can he ever face the man again, after making such a fool of himself?

"Stop thinking so loud," Bond grumbles into his back.

"I'm sorry, I'm not sure what the protocol is here, I..."

Bond presses a kiss to his neck and Q freezes up. 

"There's no protocol," Bond says, his lips brushing over Q's skin. "There's just us, sleeping a bit longer, maybe kissing some more, and tonight, when we put on our good suits and they'll all thank us for our excellent work, we're gonna find out how good _you_ look in a suit, on your knees."

"Christ."


End file.
